


This Is Payback for Stabbing Me

by greyfire



Series: Taking Hits [2]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 17:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyfire/pseuds/greyfire
Summary: Second part of the series, in which Eve and Villanelle discover that taking a bullet for your should-be sworn enemy is a surprising no-brainer.A bit of canon divergence set at the beginning of S2E1 (spoilers!)





	This Is Payback for Stabbing Me

Eve stumbled out into the narrow Parisian street, breaths raggedy. She was shaking, hard, with the violence of the what she’d done, what, five, ten minutes ago? If she really thought about it, the events that had transpired in Villanelle’s apartment seemed like a lifetime ago. No, it felt further than that. Like it had been a part of someone else’s life altogether. Yes, that had to be it. Why else was it becoming so difficult to remember anything besides the sickening slide of the knife?

So consumed was Eve by these thoughts that she paid no attention to the things that passed by her: a bloody hand mark on the corner wall, the green slatted door, the ragged breathing behind it that matched her own. Nor did Eve notice the premature return of a faux medic behind her.

*******

Villanelle noticed. Though her vision was hindered by the corner wall, she heard it -- a faint spattering of muttered Russian, trailing Eve as she passed. She recalled the perfect straightness of the street outside. Eve was totally exposed if they noticed her.

Walk faster, Eve, she implored, pressing down on the wound in her belly. She considered the worst case scenario. She’d glimpsed the fake medics earlier getting out of the vans: two women and a man. Her free hand twitched towards her gun, the same one (she thought, with a sinking feeling,) she used to shoot at Eve earlier. She could take all three of them, easy, especially if they weren’t expecting her. But then her stab wound throbbed, forcing her to double over, groaning.

“Eve? Eve Polastri?” A woman's voice called from outside. Clear, cool, with a Russian accent.

Ah shit. Somehow they knew about Eve. And they had definitely noticed her.

*******

Eve heard her name, clothed in a Russian tongue, curling with the uncertainty of a question. She knew it wasn’t Villanelle. It was her cue to run, to duck, to pretend not to notice, to do pretty much anything besides what she did do. But she couldn’t resist. Like a moth drawn to a flame, like a sailor pulled toward siren song, even as every rational part of her screamed that it couldn’t be Villanelle, Eve turned around.

It was one of the female medics, standing alone by the apartment entrance. Even from this distance, Eve could clearly see the gun pointed at her chest, the peculiar glint of it in broad daylight.

And suddenly, Eve found all the time in the world to process that this was the end, there was no way out, that this was it. (Should she smile? Did she want to eyes to be closed? She laughed inwardly at these strange thoughts.)

The green slatted door between them exploded, unsheathing a bloodied Villanelle and all her fury, shining and glorious.

The next few seconds passed in a blur, leaving both Villanelle and the medic woman collapsed where they had stood. Eve rushed to the fallen Villanelle. Did she get hit? Was the medic woman dead? Did someone shout “BANG!” as they fired their weapon? (Okay, that part was definitely Villanelle.)

She found a new wound in Villanelle’s arm, answering her first question. Although she was ordinarily unbothered by these types of things, she winced at the amount of blood loss. Still, this wounded arm had the strength to push at her, which Eve found astonishing and puzzling.

“Move,” Villanelle was saying, hoarsely.

*******

When Villanelle burst out from behind the slatted door, she had no time to think. She found herself letting go as her body twisted in midair, instinct guiding the tip of her gun to the space between her target’s eyes.

Now, laying on the street, she sensed a fog settling, sensed the danger of its presence. She forced herself to focus on the pain, letting the feel of it pour into her brain, letting the millions of tiny shooting and stabbing sensations inside of her play on continuous repeat.

After all the commotion, there was no telling how long it would take the other cleaners to come down. She knew her body, dead or alive, was going to be shot on sight. Ignoring the black edges of her vision, she kept her gaze locked on the apartment entrance, laying as still as she could while also trying to subtly push Eve away.

*******

By this point, Eve’s mind was so hopelessly fractured that it took her awhile to register what was happening around her.

The other two medics arrived and dropped instantly. Of course they did. Villanelle had been expecting them.

And now Villanelle was looking right at her with those clear yet unfathomable eyes. The air between them tensed with expectation. It was a chance for forgiveness, for redemption. A chance for Eve’s world, which had been spinning every which way through the nothingness, to have something close to an axis for once.

So Eve sat in silence, waiting for the right words to fall out.

*******

Villanelle regarded Eve’s glassy-eyed, open-mouthed look with a vague curiosity.

“Am I... still an asshole?”

Eve took a deep, shuddering breath. She blinked, slowly and intentionally, as if she was just remembering it was something she should do. 

“Yes, God yes. I didn’t ask for, well --” she gestured wildly, “ -- any of this, really. What were you thinking?“

Eve’s tone was accusing, like Villanelle had gotten shot for eating a jarful of lollies and not because she’d just saved Eve’s life.

Villanelle chuckled.

“Eve... Eve Polastri…”

She said the name quietly, tasting it on her lips, on her tongue, on the roof of her mouth.

*******

Eve was having trouble hearing, so she awkwardly cradled Villanelle’s crumpled body closer, in an attempt to hear better, of course. 

“Wow,” Villanelle said, the smirk apparent in her voice. “This is way better than that one time we shared a bed together.”

In a flash, Eve was back to sliding that cold, cold steel deep into Villanelle. She couldn't really feel the knife move, (there was so little… resistance), but she knew when it was done. She kept her gaze fixed on those hazel eyes, killer’s eyes, ( _her_ killer’s eyes?) searching for remorse or recognition, some whisper of rhyme or reason, but instead finding only her own horror mirrored back at her. 

And here they were again, more or less, except this time Villanelle had taken matters into her own hands.

“Okay, serious question. Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

Eve gawked at her. “You are literally dying. How is this still funny to you?”

“But I am completely serious! You like me. I like you. And when people like each other, they do cute couple things that annoy the hell out of everybody. Then they post about it on Facebook, to make it official. Obviously.”

Eve sighed. “Okay.”

“Okay? Really?”

Eve traced the bruise near Villanelle’s cheek with a soft thumb, shuddering when she noticed the dried blood -- Villanelle’s blood -- set in the wrinkles of her skin. This was quickly covered by Villanelle’s hand, pinning her down with surprising strength. 

“You know,” Villanelle said, quietly. “This is payback for stabbing me.”

She was right. Seeing the recently-discovered center of her universe reduced to this, knowing that Villanelle did this to her, for her, made it painful for Eve to breathe. In a way, Villanelle had won. She’d gone all in, taking with her all the unexplored depths that Eve would never get to know.

"I know." 

Her hand ghosted briefly towards Villanelle's stomach before she caught herself. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. I forgive you, by the way,” Villanelle said, her voice barely above a whisper. She closed her eyes, smiling serenely.

Somehow, Eve knew, without checking for a pulse, when Villanelle was gone. She leaned in and tasted Villanelle’s lips, salted with her own tears.

*******

“HA!” Villanelle shouted, her eyes shooting open. “I was just pretending!”

Eve drew back, a look of horror on her face.

“Oh my God, not funny!” 

“Konstantin thought it was funny.”

“It’s so not funny.” 

“I knew it.” Villanelle grinned. “I knew you stabbed me because you cared about me.”

Eve groaned. “Shut up, I’m taking you to a hospital.” 

“Fine. But don’t forget to call the Moustache and tell him you have a girlfriend.”

**Author's Note:**

> THIS SHOW GIVES ME LIFEEE as do you all :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and all of the lovely comments from Part 1!


End file.
